


I'll Show You Mine If

by Cheylock



Series: A Very Stisaac Pack Christmas [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Flirting, Homework, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheylock/pseuds/Cheylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's senior year at Beacon Hills High for Isaac Lahey and Stiles Stilinski, and they've been giving each other looks so long it's hardly surprising that Stiles catches something he maybe wasn't supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Show You Mine If

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burntotears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntotears/gifts), [Strangeredlantern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/gifts), [fuzzybooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybooks/gifts).



“Is that a fucking _tramp stamp_?”

Isaac turns to look at him, a wily and slightly cruel smile gracing that pink mouth that Stiles isn’t allowed to think about. Stiles knows it’s an act, but it’s still fucking hot. Isaac tugs his shirt down to cover the strip of skin just above his hips that’d been teasing at Stiles, whispering for him to finally drop to his knees and open up wide. He’s wanted Isaac for over two years now. He’s not whole, not completely, and he knows Isaac is much the same. They’ve walked that knife-edge of danger often enough now that Stiles can sense more under the angry (but so fucking sexy) veneer, one he’s never wanted scraped off lest his own cover be blown.

Yeah, he wants to be blown, but not like _that_.

Isaac sucks the inside of his bottom lip into his mouth and chews softly for a moment—Stiles can tell when he draws blood now. “Scott and Derek have tattoos.” He sounds like he’s just stating the obvious, but Stiles can feel something under the skin of that statement, a quiet ‘why,’ like ‘why do you want to know,’ like ‘maybe I’d be willing to show you.’

Things like this have lingered under most things they’ve said for months now. Ever since a Bakhtak crawled into town and decided that Stiles’s chest was his favorite resting place, ever since Isaac stopped by to check on him while his insomnia had him kicking around and killed the thing as Stiles lay there staring at it. Isaac held him for hours after that, Stiles’s father finding them huddled in a pool of molten gold iridescent blood at three in the morning.

It wasn’t the best night in recent memory, but honestly, Stiles could think of much worse.

Stiles thinks about Isaac's arms around him too much. The last six or so times they could've kissed play through his mind, and he realizes Isaac's no longer standing inches in front of him. Isaac’s painfully long, cut figure is sauntering off, clearly walking that way just to make Stiles stare obviously. “Wait! What is it?”

Isaac turns and smiles at him with his head ducked down, a soft, sweet, vulnerable thing that makes Stiles’s chest ache.

God, the boy is beautiful.

 

“I am never going to get this. It’s nice that you’re trying to teach me, it really is, but I’m not articulate like you. Face it, Stiles. It’s never happening. I’m never going to finish this fucking paper in time.” Isaac stands without looking at Stiles, drawing his messenger bag into the seat of his chair with powerful arms, wide fingers…

Stiles finally can’t take it anymore. He strides up to Isaac, heedless of the head’s worth of height difference, and keeps going. Isaac backs away, keeps going until he can’t anymore, and Stiles knows you’re not supposed to corner wild things but how else is he supposed to do this? He presses Isaac’s shoulders firmly into the wood, but doesn’t use undue force—Isaac isn’t made out of glass, but he’s not steel, either. He’s flesh, he’s blood, he’s bone, he still bruises even if he doesn’t like to admit it, even if he’ll always be the best out of all of them at covering it up.

“Stop it. Stop saying you can’t. Stop telling me that. It’s garbage, it’s shit, you know it. You _can_ Isaac, you more than can, what are you so afraid of?” Isaac’s eyes widen and Stiles knows he’s hit a nerve, he’s touched _something_ in that broad and brilliant brain, so good at being blunt but so bad at being straightforward somehow…

The air changes, gets thicker. Stiles doesn't have fucking powers, literally cannot notice the change in Isaac’s breathing, but he does anyway. Isaac’s breathing is always controlled, but it goes spastic, just for a second, a long pull and then a short exhale, like he’s holding his breath. Stiles is so _focused_ it almost hurts him, so focused on the boy-now-man in front of him, the one that’s grown so much and yet stayed so very much the same.

“Isaac…” It should be a question. He wants it to be a question. But he thinks he knows what comes neck.

Isaac’s neck arches down and he presses his lips to Stiles’s, soft, sweet, delicate.

Stiles ruins it immediately by moaning and pressing into it hard, hands slipping down and under Isaac’s shirt, to rest along his back against the skin he knows is charred but goddamn it _what’s there_?

Isaac pushes back just as hard, making the ruined kiss something broader, blunter, more overwhelming. He’s doing shit with his tongue Stiles has never pictured in his most shameful moments, shit Stiles scrambles to follow with open, panting, whimpering mouth. Stiles has Isaac completely pinned against the wall now, hips situated between Isaac’s incredibly long, delicious legs, and really, this is just no kind of a good idea. Isaac is claustrophobic, Stiles is bad at not being able to breathe and he can’t worth a damn right now…

But Isaac is cradling his head with both those amazing hands, working fingers free of claws into his hair, essentially petting him over and over. Isaac’s tongue tickles the roof of his mouth and finally Stiles has to pull away, to lay his forehead against Isaac’s and just stare at him. Words are coming before he even registers them. “You’re still finishing your fucking essay.” He shudders and runs his fingers over Isaac’s back slowly, fingers moving in attempt at tracing that’s entirely impossible because he has no idea what’s there. “After, though, after I can reward you, I think…”

“Reward me? By staring at my tattoo?” Isaac kisses his cheek gently and laughs against his skin, and it sends thrills all through Stiles’s body.

“Not quite.” He kisses Isaac again, slow and the absolute fucking opposite of clumsy, stealing all of Isaac’s air before whispering, “I’ll show you all mine, how about that?”

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you may've noticed, I have not been anywhere near as prolific as usual. I apologize for this, and thank you for your patience and understanding. I've not been having a fun time of it lately, honestly, and I'm really struggling with the whole 'fanfic' thing--but that's not the important thing here.
> 
> The important thing here is that Emmie is amazing and wonderful and I'm still not done with her birthday present, so here is her joint Christmas present. Sorry you have to share, love, but I suck a lot this year.
> 
> StrangeredLantern, I probably should've let you beta this, but since it's part yours I beta not. Ha. Ha. Well, Merry Christmas anyway, sorry it's not more.
> 
> And my dear fuzzybooks/Brittany. Hi. I miss you. We haven't talked in a long time, but you're wonderful. And this is /not/ Merry Christmas to you. I know your birthday is in two days, and it's not the fluffiest thing in the world but it's something I have, it's something I can give to you for that. Your joint Christmas present will be soon.
> 
> Apologies for not being able to give you guys all that you deserve, but Merry Christmas (and Happy Holidays) to all three of you, I love you a lot.
> 
> And to you, dear reader, if you decided to read all this stuff not necessarily addressed to you. Thank you very much for reading, and Happy Holidays.


End file.
